


A Little Light Bondage

by Eriakit



Series: Blame It On The Discord [2]
Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: (well. tentacles.), Anal Sex, Don't Judge Me, Dubious Consent, Healing Sex, Kinky Magic Healing, M/M, Magical Artifacts, Magical Healing Cock, Other, Tentacle Sex, Tentacles, The Light
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-24 16:21:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21800854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eriakit/pseuds/Eriakit
Summary: A particularly kinky version of how Lothraxion got Light-ified.
Relationships: Lothraxion/tentacles, Lothraxion/the Light
Series: Blame It On The Discord [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1570960
Comments: 8
Kudos: 21





	A Little Light Bondage

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dragomir](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragomir/gifts), [Merrysva](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merrysva/gifts).



> Other titles suggested by the heathens I associate with:  
> just "Light Bondage"  
> Bring Me To Light  
> Fill Me With Light  
> The Filling of the Holy Spirit  
> Is Nothing Sacred Anymore  
> The Holy Spirit is Given At The Moment Of Salvation
> 
> Really, that and the tentacles in the tags tells you all you need to know.

Lothraxion slunk away from the nathrezim encampment, still smarting from his latest spat with his commander. They were high on their victories against the armies of the Light, and had grown overconfident. However, attempting to tell his commander this had gotten him reprimanded, repeatedly. This last had him favoring his wing where the brainless scum had wrenched it and wincing every time moving his face pulled at the scratches there.

He made his way across the seared earth of whatever nameless blip they'd landed on this time, growling to himself. His hooves sunk into the ash at the edge of a hill and before he could take to the air the ground gave out from beneath him, burnt from within. He crashed down through the edge of the hill and then further, falling several yards until he landed on cold, hard ground with a _thud_. Groaning, he rolled over - both wings aching, now, from his rather embarrassing landing - and gaped at the place he'd found himself. Even covered in a fine layer of soot dust and grime, it was beautiful. Elegant archways covered three walls, with a fourth, the nearest to where he'd fallen, turned to rubble. Crystals of solidified magic sang to him from every corner of the small space, from the glimmering shards along the tops of the arches to the etchings on the columns supporting them to the solid statue on top of the altar at the far end of the room. From arcane to Light to shadow, every kind of magic he could name was represented.

Lothraxion groaned as he got his hooves under him, automatically flapping his wings for balance and regretting it as something pulled improperly. Grimacing against the discomfort, he made his way across the room to the altar. While he was stuck here, he might as well investigate.

As he approached the altar, he began to feel the burn of Light magic striking his soul. But no - striking wasn't the right word. It came over him in waves, not _gentle_ , exactly, but not an attack either. Bracing against the not-heat of the magic, he inched closer to look. On top of the altar was a figurine, apparently made of pure Light, a simple, diamond-shaped crystal held aloft by twin six-fingered hands. He'd known the inhabitants of this planet were accomplished wielders of the Light, but he'd never seen any race condense it so powerfully. Before he could stop himself, he reached out a hand to pick up the crystal.

The moment his hand made contact with the crystal, he was hit with a surge of Light so strong it sent him to his knees. He tried to let go of it, to stand, anything, but something kept him from moving. He felt wave after wave of Light burn through him, burn _into_ him, scorching the shadow in his very being. He would have screamed, but he couldn't even do that with whatever magic was holding him in place. He lost track of how long he knelt there, mind buzzing with the burning, ringing waves of magic, before a voice echoed through the chamber, speaking the language of the native species. Lothraxion roused from his stupor at the deep intonations, redoubling his efforts to move. He couldn't understand the words, but he knew better than to assume they were good tidings. He failed, and after enough time had passed for him to thoroughly exhaust himself, the voice rang out once again. Different words this time, though no more intelligible than the last.

As quickly as he had been frozen, he could move again. He couldn't go very far, however - as soon as his hand left the figure, a ball of Light surrounded it before shooting out tendrils to wrap around his wrists. As strong as any of the bindings the Legion used, they held his hands still while they worked their way up his arms until he was covered in them from wrists to shoulders. The ends of the tendrils made their way around his neck, and eventually up further, behind his ears and around the bases of his horns. He panted in fear, before another wave of Light washed over him. It still hurt, but he'd grown... not numb, but accustomed to it, as one grew accustomed to the heat of a fel-forge after spending enough time within it. He relaxed involuntarily, the warmth of the magic taking the edge off his fear. Again and again it washed over him, soothing him, doing nothing more than restraining his arms and head.

Lothraxion was more relaxed than he could ever remember being - no such thing in the Legion, always on guard for someone ready to put a blade in your spine, but he felt - he _knew_ he wasn't under threat, here, and that made no sense, he was _burning_ \- when the Light moved again. More offshoots from the ball of Light spread out, working around and up his legs, across his back, over his wings. Every scrape and bruise and strain they found was mended and soothed, and pains he hadn't even known he had faded to nothing.

He barely even noticed when the tendrils of Light took his weight, resting him back against the ones between his wings and around his thighs. His entire body, his entire _being_ hummed with the magic, his skin tingling, and the waves grew stronger. After endless minutes of increasingly powerful waves of magic, Lothraxion felt something almost like _impatience_ mixed into the comfort and heat - or perhaps concern? It seemed whatever result the magic wanted wasn't happening, or at least not entirely.

Lothraxion gave a half-hearted struggle as yet more tendrils worked over his armor, casting the singed gear into the furthest corner as if they were tainted. _Tainted._ Could that be it? Could it be trying to wash the fel and shadow out of him? As if the thought had called to it - and for all he knew, it had, and yet the waves of warmthsafetyconcernhealing _burning_ care kept his usual paranoia about mental attacks distant; if it was reading his mind, it wasn't doing it to hurt him - the Light surged over him, making him gasp.

The second his mouth opened, another length of magic, thicker than the others so far, made its way inside. Lothraxion flinched, but whatever the hell it was doing wasn't any more painful than the rest. Curiosity rose to the fore - would it succeed? Could it? The thought of the fel being taken from him would have terrified him just hours before, but now he was almost eager to see if it was possible. Lothraxion felt the tendrils pet and squeeze at the base of his horns at his thoughts, and he rumbled with contentment. Seeming to understand he enjoyed that, they did it again - and again, and again, until his eyes were watering from how good it felt. The ones at his back tried the same thing at the base of his wings, and he _moaned_ around the magic in his throat.

Flinching at his own noise, Lothraxion felt a strange tingle of shame before it was... batted away, for lack of a better term, by a small wave of Light. The Light in his mouth worked its way further, down into his throat, until he couldn't feel it anymore beyond a sense of spreading warmth. He swallowed on reflex and the Light responded with more pressure at horns and wings. It felt wonderful, and so he swallowed again - a pattern was set quickly, and soon enough his thighs were shaking, his belly trembling, feeling just on the edge of pleasure even a room full of succubi hadn't managed to make him feel.

He felt another burst of frustration from the being - it had to be some sort of being, for his own pride if nothing else, because he refused to be brought so low by a simple _construct_ \- and more Light spread over his body. He spread his legs, out of a desire for more contact or a vague idea of what the being wanted, he wasn't sure. He wasn't sure he was truly _thinking_ at all. He most definitely wasn't prepared for the feeling of the tendrils taking whatever pleasured half-thoughts within his mind and _running with them._ The tendrils on his legs, previously stopped at the join of hip and thigh, moved up rapidly until they wound across his lower belly and around his waist, until they met the ones at his back. several more wound their way around his cock, shocking him into helpless writhing as pleasure and overwhelming _heat_ and tingling sparks washed over him. Before he could finish processing it, however, another branch of light, as large as the one in his throat - if not larger - pressed at his entrance.

He whined, feeling suddenly cold in his belly, desperate for more warmth. He pressed against it, and it obliged him with another wave of soothing calm before pressing into him. He panted through his nose, hands flexing uselessly until the tendrils shifted to give him something to hold onto, wings beating slowly in his daze. He arched in the Light's hold as he was filled further, more and more of the magic pouring into him, filling him up. As the heat spread through him more and more, he felt it - a tiny, lingering ember of darkness, right at his core. He hissed at it, suddenly feeling as if it was _wrong_ , as if it had _been_ wrong for so long and he'd simply gotten used to it. It felt like poison, and he almost panicked at it being inside of him before the Light-being pressed more warming comfort at him, and the ember shrunk.

He let out a small, happy noise, swallowing and bucking into its hold. He'd take as much as he could, all he could, and it would get rid of that - that _sickness_. He urged the being on mentally, begging for _more, all of it, please_ until it was matching his fervor, pressing more and more of itself at him until he felt as if _he_ were almost within _it_ , surrounded and filled all at once, stretched open and so tightly on the edge of his pleasure it felt as if his immortal soul would burst with it. And then it happened.

The Light surged forth one last time, flaring even brighter in triumph as the last flicker of darkness shattered and disappeared under it's onslaught. Lothraxion keened as the Light filled him entirely, every spec of him, body and mind and soul, and came as the Light filled him _more_ , until he was bursting with it. Until he _did_ burst, something in him giving way and changing. In the aftermath he blinked, thinking himself blind until he realized he simply couldn't see anything but the Light of the creature holding him. Seemingly taking that as a cue to let him go, the Light did so - but slowly, letting him find his footing as it slid out of him, off of him, until it was back to only being wrapped around his arms. He held onto it, shaky, and thanked it silently as it let him lean on the altar it rested on.

He lifted his hands - the Light was holding him, but not restraining his movements - to examine them, and had to be comforted with more magic at the alien brightness of his skin. Running his hands over his face in an attempt to calm himself, his fingers came to only smoother skin and slight lumps where before had been proud horns. Confused and scared, he huddled close to the ball of Light and was calmed. He wasn't sure how long he'd stayed there when he heard chiming in his head, entirely without words but telling him where to go, all the same. The statue didn't seem to mind being taken with him, and the Naaru promised to keep it safe.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry? I'm not sorry. I am really, truly sorry that I am NOT, at all, sorry.


End file.
